


This Feels Like Falling in Love

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, its jehan though so what do you expect, like seriously theres way too much poetry, lots of fluff, theres some making out too yay, tons of poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is laughing.</p><p>He's lying on the bed, his hair is messed up, his clothes are disheveled, his lips are red from their urgent kissing, and he's laughing. Courfeyrac is holding himself up above him, confusion in his eyes and fear on his face, and he's panicking now, wondering if Jehan hadn't meant any part of the last few weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah hi this is my first Les Mis fic so please give me any feedback you can
> 
> Also for the poetry freaks like me out there I KNOW that W.B. Yeats was born after these character should have died, but i mean come on, its Yeats, how can you not use him he's perfect.
> 
> But yeah, enjoy!

"Jean!" Courfeyrac calls, making the other man turn around and raise his eyebrows, without stopping the braiding of his hair. Courfeyrac stumbles over drunkenly and clumsily falls down in front of the shorter man. He looks around, confused for a moment, then scoots his way closer, until he can spread his legs out under Jean's chair. He shimmies around, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. Eventually he gives up and takes a hearty swig from the bottle in his left hand.

"Want some?" he offers, holding the bottle out in front of Jean. The man shakes his head, and ties his hair with a bright green ribbon.

"No thank you, Courf," he adjusts his vest. "I'm not in the mood."

"Come oonnnnn!" Courfeyrac whines, scooting even closer until he can rest his head on Jean's thigh. "Just one sip!"

"Will you leave me alone if I do?" he asks. 

Courfeyrac closes his eyes and nuzzles the other man's thigh, humming in vague agreement. "Hmm, maybe," he opens one eye and smirks. "Maybe not, though."

Jean rolls his eyes, and rests a hand on his friend's head, petting it softly. "Okay, give it here," He takes a quick sip.

Courfeyrac watches him do it; watching the way he tilts his head back, loose hair falling back and catching the light; watching the way his Adam's Apple bobs alluringly, just begging to be marked.

The drunk man swallows hard as he takes the bottle back, smiling easily. "There now, that's better, isn't it?" Jean rolls his eyes, and continues petting his hair, which is a mistake, because soon enough Courfeyrac is drunk, happy, and sleepy.

Jean has picked up a book, now that the cafe is emptying, and is reading it intently. Courfeyrac doesn't even think he knows he's murmuring certain passages out loud, and he sure as hell isn't going to tell him. 

Grantaire is babbling about something on the other side of the room, and he can hear Enjolras starting arguments from time to time. He's glad Enjolras is listening to the drunkard for once, as he does have some good ideas, and Grantaire positively soaks up all the attention from Enjolras he can get. 

Suddenly, Jean reads a passage of what Courfeyrac guesses is poetry loud enough for all of them to hear.

"You don't believe -- I won't attempt to make ye:  
You are asleep -- I won't attempt to wake ye.  
Sleep on! sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams  
Of Reason you may drink of Life's clear streams."

Enjolras and Grantaire have fallen silent, and stay quiet for a little while after, until Grantaire murmurs a quiet apology. Enjolras returns it immediately, and when Courfeyrac looks up at him, Jean is smiling.

"Whu'wazzat?" He slurs, yawning.

"William Blake" Jean says, not looking away from his reading. 

"Mmm, I like 'im." Courfeyrac murmurs. "'specially when you read 'im. Your voice is beautiful." he yawns again. "You're beautiful."

The hand in his hair stills, and Jean's breath hitches. 

"I-- thank you," he says, and resumes petting his hair when the drunk man pushes his head up against his hand. 

Courfeyrac must fall asleep at one point, because one minute he's leaning on Jean's thigh, and the next he's being dropped into bed by two pairs of strong hands. He cracks an eye open, and he can see Grantaire and Enjolras' silhouettes in the doorway. 

They look at each other for a moment, a moment that soon stretches into a few minutes. They aren't moving, aren't speaking, just looking, faces only a few inches away from each other. After a while, Enjolras lifts his hand and rests it on the side of Grantaire's neck. Then he's gone, and Grantaire exhales shakily, drags a hand through his messy curls, takes one last look at Courfeyrac, and departs.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, they have another meeting at the Musain, and Courfeyrac is a little nervous. He's decided that he wants to court Jean, and the prospect is exciting, but foreign to him. He's thought about it before, though, watched the man laugh and drink and read, and imagined how he looks first thing in the morning, hair tousled from sleep, eyes bright in the morning light. 

He's talked to Marius, who is close with Jean, owing to their mutual love of poetry and all things romantic, and the boy is supportive of the idea, despite his obvious general discomfort with Courfeyrac's sexual endeavours. 

"It'll do him some good," he says, smiling at Courfeyrac. "I wish you luck, though. He's not the easiest to figure out."

"I'll figure him out," Courfeyrac says, watching as Jean laughs at something Grantaire said, leaning against the doorframe in the entrance to the cafe. "I can be patient."

\----------

"Jean Prouvaire!" Courfeyrac calls after the other man. "Wait for me, let me walk with you." 

The man in question pauses, and sighs, but turns around to watch as Courfeyrac runs after him. When he reaches him, they fall into step beside each other in silence.

"It's a beautiful night," Courfeyrac says eventually, and he's a little distressed; he's usually able to talk so smoothly, but when with Jean, he's quieter.

To his relief, Jean nods. "Yes it is. One that poets would be privileged to write about."

"Yes, true." he looks at Jean. "Will they?"

The question makes Jean's smile falter as he looks at his companion. 

"Perhaps," he says, smiling wider when he sees Courfeyrac's unquestionable curiosity and not the slightest hint of a double-entendre. 

"And what would these poets write, pray tell?" Courfeyrac prompts, enjoying this.

"Well, to start, they would write of the colour of the sky, and the smells in the air." he gestures at the sky, and they look up at the stars. "Then they would move on to why they were outside, and how blessed they were to be alive." he pauses to sweep his hand in front of him, motioning to the street they were walking down. "And finally, they would compare the beauty of the night to the person they were with." At this, he puts a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder, and smiles softly.

Courfeyrac is speechless. 

Jean looks a little triumphant at this fact, and stops walking. "This is me," he says, and Courfeyrac nods mutely. "Thank you for walking me home. I'm sure many a poem will be penned with regards to this night." and with that, he's gone, the door closing behind him, leaving Courfeyrac in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

The next night, Courfeyrac comes prepared. He's got a poem memorized, one that he hopes won't embarrass either of them, and he hasn't drunk too much, just enough to calm his nerves. 

But when he enters the cafe, Jean is no-where to be found. He slumps in a seat in the corner, and nurses the bottle handed to him by Gavroche, who always seems to know when he needs a drink. 

He watches his friends talk and plan, but Grantaire catches his eye, as he has a certain talent of doing.

He's upset, that much is obvious. Even if he's trying to hide it with his laughter and jokes, his smile is fake, broken, and Courfeyrac wants to ask him about it. Before he has the chance to, though, Grantaire is staggering to his feet, and yelling for everyone to be quiet.

"I have a verse to recite!" he shouts, smiling, and everyone laughs and applauds. He waves his arms, spilling his drink in the process, wanting silence. He pauses to take another sip, and someone yells, "Well get on with it, then!". He nods, swallowing hard.

"God of the golden bow,  
And of the golden lyre,  
And of the golden hair,  
And of the golden fire,  
Charioteer  
Of the patient year,  
Where---where slept thine ire,  
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,  
Thy laurel, thy glory,  
The light of thy story,  
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?  
O Delphic Apollo! 

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,  
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;  
The eagle's feathery mane  
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound  
Of breeding thunder  
Went drowsily under,  
Muttering to be unbound.  
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?  
Why touch thy soft lute  
Till the thunder was mute,  
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?  
O Delphic Apollo!"

There is silence in the cafe when he finishes with a pointed look at Enjolras, and a big bow. He then leaves, and all eyes turn to Enjolras. The man is frozen, and he looks mortified. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, he launches himself across the room, down the stairs and out the door after Grantaire.

Courfeyrac shakes his head and continues drinking. Gavroche comes to sit beside him again, and the two talk about what had happened, laughing, and Courfeyrac feels better about his situation by the end of the night.

When he leaves, he's not too drunk, and he decides to go to Jean's house. He tries to remember the route they took the night before, and after a few tries, he finds himself in front of the man's door.

He stands there for a while, wanting to knock, but not wanting to wake Jean up if he's sleeping. Finally, he hears footsteps approaching where he is from around the corner.

"Courfeyrac?" someone familiar says, and the man turns around to see Jean himself standing there, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a poem for you," Courfeyrac says. "And I was going to say it in front of everyone, but then you weren't there, so now I'm here."

Jean's smiles fondly, and he shakes his head. "You need to go home and sleep, Courf. You're drunk. Thank you, though, it's a lovely thought."

He gently manoeuvres the taller man out of his way, and opens his door. "Goodnight, Courfeyrac." 

He's closing the door in his face for the second night in a row, and Courfeyrac can’t stand it. The door is nearly closed, when Courfeyrac begins to speak. 

“Fasten your hair with a golden pin,  
And bind up every wandering tress;  
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:  
It worked at them, day out, day in,  
Building a sorrowful loveliness  
Out of the battles of old times. 

You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,  
And bind up your long hair and sigh;  
And all men's hearts must burn and beat;  
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,  
And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,  
Live but to light your passing feet.” 

Jean has re-opened the door, and is looking at Courfeyrac with his mouth hanging open. 

“Yeats,” Courfeyrac says quietly, and suddenly the door is thrown wide and Jean is outside. He grabs Courfeyrac’s face in his hands and pulls his head closer, until their foreheads touch. They stare into each other’s eyes for the moment Jean allows them to, then Jean’s eyes fall shut, and he takes a deep breath, as if collecting himself. 

Courfeyrac takes the chance to observe Jean’s face up close; the soft lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the pinkish tint to his blushing cheeks, the way his dark eyelashes contrast with his pale skin, his perfectly shaped mouth. When Jean opens his eyes again, his lips are pulled up in one corner. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, and tightens his grip on Courfeyrac’s face momentarily, before letting go and fleeing into his house. 

Courfeyrac is left speechless outside of Jean’s house for the second night in a row. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he thinks. ‘This man should not hold so much sway over me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres art????!!!!!!!!
> 
> my lovely Molly (good-golly-miss.tumblr.com) made some awesome art for this so go check it out:
> 
> http://good-golly-miss.tumblr.com/post/48453221162/una-wrote-some-really-lovely-fic-and-i-made-some


	4. Chapter 4

After that night, Courfeyrac catches Jean watching him more. It’s barely noticeable; a glance in his direction when he thinks no-one is looking, a gaze after him when he leaves the cafe, a smile when he sees Courfeyrac laugh. 

One night, a few days after their encounter outside Jean’s house, Courfeyrac and Jean are sitting in the cafe, nearly alone, save for Enjolras, Joly, and Combeferre, who are conversing quietly, and Grantaire, who is watching them. He has barely drunk a thing that night, and Courfeyrac saw Enjolras regarding him proudly whenever he said something particularly intelligent. 

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, has been drinking quite a bit that day, and Jean has been regarding him with more and more discontent as the night progressed. Finally, he leans over, and recites in a low voice;

“Come swish around, my pretty punk,  
And keep me dancing still  
That I may stay a sober man  
Although I drink my fill. 

Sobriety is a jewel  
That I do much adore;  
And therefore keep me dancing  
Though drunkards lie and snore.  
O mind your feet, O mind your feet,  
Keep dancing like a wave,  
And under every dancer  
A dead man in his grave.  
No ups and downs, my pretty,  
A mermaid, not a punk;  
A drunkard is a dead man,  
And all dead men are drunk.” 

Courfeyrac shudders at the intensity in Jean’s voice, and the flash in his eyes as he leans away. 

“Yeats,” he states, and Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. 

“Well, thass’easy for you to say,” Courfeyrac slurs, smirking as he gets up, and belches. 

“Wine comes in at the mouth  
And love comes in at the eye;  
That's all we shall know for truth  
Before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth,  
I look at you, and I sigh.” 

It’s Jean’s turn to roll his eyes, but there is a hint of a content smile on his face, and Courfeyrac counts it as a victory. 

“Do you know any other poets, or only Yeats?” Jean asks, and Courfeyrac laughs loudly. 

“Of course, lovely,” he says, and tries to stand straight as he recites;

“This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,  
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,  
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.  
Night, sleep, and the stars.” 

Jean smiles and leans forward. “Whitman,” he says, and Courfeyrac nods, also leaning in. “I enjoy Whitman.” 

“Will you two stop reciting poetry at each other and leave already?” Grantaire calls, and the two look over at him. 

Joly and Combeferre have gone, and once again it is only them two and Enjolras and Grantaire. Grantaire has moved his chair closer to Enjolras’, and is leaning in close to the blonde man. Enjolras is looking slightly uncomfortable, but he can't seem to take his eyes off Grantaire. 

Jean and Courfeyrac take in the other two’s position, then look at each other knowingly.

"Alright, alright, we'll leave if we must," Courfeyrac says, and bows at them. "Are you coming, love?"

Jean grins despite himself, and gets up to join Courfeyrac. "Have a lovely night, gentlemen!" he calls from downstairs, as Courfeyrac opens the door, and pretends to walk through it. Jean pretends to follow, but instead they creep silently to the foot of the stairs to listen to their friends talk.

"How've I done, Apollo?" Grantaire asks, and there’s so much hope in his voice.

There is silence for a moment, then Enjolras speaks.

"You do not need to strive for my constant approval, you know," he says softly, and he sounds almost guilty. 

Grantaire laughs ruefully. "Of course I do. Without your acknowledgement I am nothing but a drunken coward."

A chair scrapes along the ground, and Enjolras must have stood up. "You are not a drunken coward, Grantaire! You are intelligent, attentive, special. You look at situations and people differently than anyone I've ever met." Grantaire makes a sarcastic sound, and when Enjolras speaks again, it's softer. "You stay. Every day, you stay, and you add so much to our group. You don't believe in the cause, you don't believe in anything and yet you stay."

It is Grantaire's turn to stand up, and Courfeyrac hears him curse. "Don't you see? Dear God, Enjolras, for all your words of revolution do you not look around, and see those that surround you?" he scoffs incredulously, and the two downstairs can hear him walking away from the table. "Are you really so blind, o fearless leader,-" he spits the words mockingly. "-the one who sees so much injustice in the world, but cannot even recognize the injustice under his nose?" 

"What injustice? Stop speaking in riddles, so that I may know your strife and right the ways I have wronged you!" Enjolras is getting desperate, and Courfeyrac and Jean can hear him walking after Grantaire. "Please, Grantaire. Let me help you."

Grantaire sighs, and there’s a moment of silence before he speaks. "You have done nothing wrong, Enjolras. Forgive me, I have misspoken." They hear him walk towards the table to collect his jacket, and Enjolras growls and throws himself after him.  
"Please, Grantaire!" he cries. "Please, don't leave, let me work this out. Let us work this out."

"Just open your eyes, then!" Grantaire yells, and steps forward. "Open your eyes and look at me! Am I any different from the others? Am I not the only one to call you Apollo, to equate you to a God? Am I not the only one to look to you in every single situation for guidance? Am I not the only one here who does not care for the revolution, yet stays anyways?" Enjolras is quiet. "Why, then, do you suppose I stay? And do not say the wine, for that would be reason enough for me to leave now and never come back."

There is a moment of silence, before Enjolras lets out a breath, and says, quietly but surely. "Me. You stay for me, don't you?"

Jean is cheering silently beside Courfeyrac, a huge smile on his face as he dances about happily.

Grantaire sighs, and it is the sigh of one who just had a great weight lifted from his shoulders. "Yes, Enjolras. I stay for you. Since the first time I ever saw you, I knew I could not let myself stray from you. You are my Apollo, my guide, my sun, my everything. And I will not apologize for this, despite the fact that I probably should. I will not be sorry for the truth. Not anymore."

He walks to the table, and adjusts the chairs. The two downstairs keep listening, poised to run if need be, and they hear him pull his jacket on. He stops at the top of the stairs, and Courfeyrac sneaks over to join Jean under them.

"Will you say nothing, Enjolras?" he asks sadly. There is no answer, and Grantaire sighs, and stomps heavily down the stairs. 

Jean is shaking with how much he wants to hug Grantaire and smack Enjolras, and Courfeyrac wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Suddenly, Enjolras is running across the upstairs room, down the stairs and out into the rain. 

Jean throws himself out from under the stairs to a window to watch, and Courfeyrac stumbles after him. He arrives just in time to see Enjolras grab Grantaire's shoulder, and spin him to face him. Enjolras says something, then grabs Grantaire's face, and kisses him. Grantaire immediately grabs on to Enjolras' shoulders, holding him in place as they kiss desperately. 

Jean is cheering loudly now, and Courfeyrac can't help but join in, whooping and cat-calling as the kiss escalates, and Grantaire walks them backwards into the wall of a building. They finally break away from each other, but Enjolras keeps his hands on Grantaire's face. Grantaire asks him something, and Enjolras nods, smiling, and Grantaire kisses him again.

Enjolras is the first to break away that time, and he asks Grantaire a question. Grantaire shrugs as an answer, them the two turn to the cafe, looking right at Jean and Courfeyrac. 

"I suggest you leave!" Enjolras calls. "I doubt you'd have any interest in what business Grantaire and I have in there tonight." Grantaire turns sharply to look at him, and a huge smile that threatens to split his face in half lights up his face. Then he's pulling Enjolras along by the wrist, yelling for Jean and Courfeyrac to leave, and the two in the cafe are laughing and scrambling to get out as quickly as they can.


	5. Chapter 5

Six days later, Courfeyrac is on his way to the cafe, when he hears his name called from somewhere behind him. He turns around to find Jean waving his arms and jogging after him. 

“Wait!” he calls, and Courfeyrac stops to watch him approach. 

“Good day, my flowery friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims as they fall into step beside each other. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my fair Jean?” 

“Don’t try and impress me with fancy words, Courf, it won’t work.” Jean says, but he’s blushing. 

“It seems like it’s working, from my point of view,” Courfeyrac counters, leaning his head on the smaller man’s shoulder and laughing when Jean shrugs him off and swats him away. Jean grumbles half-heartedly, but links his arm with Courfeyrac’s when it’s offered. 

For the past few days Courfeyrac has been trying (and succeeding) to woo Jean, with poetry, walks in the dark, and that time he let him weave him a matching crown, bracelet and necklace out of flowers (which Courfeyrac certainly did not keep tucked away in a wooden box somewhere). 

Despite his efforts, though, he still has not gotten a kiss from the beautiful boy. They've come close, like the time he recited Whitman’s “Oh You Whom” to Jean on a bridge after the church bell tolled midnight, and Courfeyrac had taken Jean's blushing face gently into his hands, stroking his thumb over the other's cheekbone. Or when they'd sat facing each other on a bench in a quiet garden, and he murmured Rossetti's "A Birthday" to him while playing with his hair, and Jean had looked up at him, eyes happy and smiling, and leaned their foreheads together.

Courfeyrac is fine with that, don't get him wrong, but he's getting a little worried about if Jean even thinks this to be a courtship, and not simply a friendship.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks; one second he's watching Jean talk with Grantaire, whose hand is intertwined loosely with Enjolras', and then the next, he's standing up on his chair and calling for everyone to be quiet.

"I have come to a realisation, and I wish to share it with you, my friends," he says, and the others cheer. Jean is watching him warily, but there is a smile on his face nonetheless. "My epiphany comes to me in a poem." He locks eyes with Jean, and begins;

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.   
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height   
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight   
For the ends of being an ideal grace."

Courfeyrac gets down off the chair, never losing eye contact, and hands his wine bottle to Bahorel. 

"I love thee to the level of every day’s   
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.   
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;   
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise."

He takes a few steps forward, and spreads his arms wide, smiling. 

"I love thee with the passion put to use   
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.   
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose   
With my lost saints."

He pauses to step even closer to Jean, and lifts the blushing man's head up by the chin.

"I love thee with the breath,   
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,   
I shall but love thee better after death."

He bends lower and leans his forehead against Jean's. 

There is a quiet, pleased murmuring throughout the cafe, and Jean is breathing hard, but his eyes are bright and there's a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

"You can call me Jehan," he whispers, and gets up, pecking Courfeyrac on the nose as he stands. Then he's gone, and Courfeyrac is left standing in front of an empty chair. 

As soon as he's gone, Grantaire is standing up, and wrapping an arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders. He kisses his Apollo's fingers before letting go, and Courfeyrac can see the small smile on Enjolras' face.

"Well done, my friend," Grantaire praises, and the other man is confused.

"'Well done? He didn't give me a suitable response, he just said 'You can call me Jehan'." Courtyards complains, and Grantaire freezes. 

"Really?" he asks, and when Courfeyrac nods, Grantaire waves Marius over. "Marius, how many people are allowed to call Jean 'Jehan'?"

Marius thinks it over for a moment. "Three, at least that I know of, including myself. Why, is that what he told you you could call him?" Courfeyrac nods again. "Wow, well done. You've gotten Jean Prouvaire to fall in love with you."


	6. Chapter 6

In celebration, Courfeyrac gets so drunk he can't see straight. He somehow manages to convince Grantaire to let him leave alone, though, and makes his way to Jean--Jehan's house. He gets lost many times, but after a few tries, finds the right door. He pounds on it until he hears someone running down the stairs. The door is thrown open, and Jehan's eyes are blazing with anger. 

When he sees who it is, though, his expression changes into something different. His eyes are still blazing, but the light in them has changed. "Why are you here?"

Courfeyrac looks at him almost shyly, taking in his ridiculous bed clothes, and says, "I was talking with Marius and he was telling me how you letting me call you 'Jehan' was equivalent to saying 'I love you' and, well, one thing led to another, and now I'm here." He rubs the back of his neck as he says, "May I come in, Jehan?"

Jehan laughs a little, and surprises the drunk man by jumping outside into Courfeyrac's arms, threading his fingers in the other's hair and kissing him. Courfeyrac inhales Jehan's scent deeply, smiling into the kiss as Jehan pulls them backwards into his house. 

Courfeyrac kicks the door closed behind him as Jehan breaks the kiss, giggling as he takes his hand and pulls him upstairs.

Courfeyrac goes easily, almost tripping on one of the stairs and laughing at himself. When they get to the top of the stairs, Jehan is on him immediately, biting his lips and pulling him as close as he can get. Courfeyrac bends forward against Jehan's body, bending the shorter man back in the process, and pulls at Jehan's shirt. The other man tears himself away and yanks off his shirt while Courfeyrac unbutton his vest and shirt, taking them off too. They look at each other for a moment, panting, before colliding again. Courfeyrac murmurs a small verse into Jehan's mouth as they walk towards the bedroom, kissing.

"Wild Nights – Wild Nights!  
Were I with thee  
Wild Nights should be  
Our luxury!

Rowing in Eden –  
Ah, the sea!  
Might I moor – Tonight –  
In thee!"

Jehan growls a little, and pushes Courfeyrac down onto the bed, climbing up lithely and crawling over him. He brackets Courfeyrac's hips with his knees, and leans down to kiss him and lick into his mouth. 

They stay kissing like that for a bit, until Courfeyrac gets impatient and flips them over. He keeps them like that until Courfeyrac pulls away and moves to Jehan's neck.

"I don't know-- I've never--" he says between kisses, and he's met with quiet laughter.

Jehan is laughing.

He's lying on the bed, his hair is messed up, his clothes are disheveled, his lips are red from their urgent kissing, and he's laughing. Courfeyrac is holding himself up above him, confusion in his eyes and fear on his face, and he's panicking now, wondering if Jehan hadn't meant any part of the last few weeks.

"What's funny?" Courfeyrac asks, staring into Jehan's flushed face.

"Oh, Courfeyrac, my dear Courfeyrac," he sighs, shaking his head and grinning. "For all your experience in this field, you still have no idea how to bed me. I find it sweet, is all. As well as slightly ironic, but that is not important." he leans up to kiss the taller man, pulling him down to lay on his side beside him. "We'll work up to that, alright?"

Courfeyrac nods, and smiles back lazily. He's realizing he's a bit too tired and drunk to have fully appreciated Jehan anyways, and contents himself to being lulled to sleep by sweet kisses and whispered verses.


	7. Chapter 7

He wakes up the same way he fell asleep, with Jehan murmuring to him and kissing his face. 

"Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!   
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,   
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes, "

Courfeyrac opens his eyes, and Jehan smiles softly at him.

"And let me breathe into the happy air,   
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,   
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,   
My sudden adoration, my great love! "

"Good morning, darling," Courfeyrac says after a moment of silence, his voice rough with sleep. He smiles. "How did you sleep?"

"Well enough," Jehan replies, and rolls his eyes, smirking. "I'd have slept better had there not been someone trying to hug me to death, though."

Courfeyrac smiles. "Sorry," he says, but his face shows no remorse.

"You are hopeless," Jehan chuckles, but shuffles closer and lays his head on Courfeyrac's chest, listening to his heart. He starts tracing patterns into the other man's skin, and Courfeyrac hums contentedly.

"We have class today," he says a while later, and Jehan nods. There is a pause, before he continues. "I do not want to have class today."

Jehan huffs a laugh into Courfeyrac's skin. "Neither do I, but we have obligations." He rolls back, stretches, and sighs deeply. "Besides, lying in bed all day would become tedious, would it not?" He swivels his head to look at Courfeyrac.

"Not if it were spent with you," the other man replies, making Jehan blush and cover his face with a hand. "No, do not hide your face. It is like hiding the moon behind dark clouds; it darkens my life."

"Stop, we have no time for romantics, not now." Jehan says, swatting at Courfeyrac when he tries to pulls his hand away. He rolls away and off the bed, leaving the room to get dressed. When he comes back, he's wearing dark green trousers, a pink shirt and a blue, floral patterned vest with an orange cravat. Courfeyrac smiles, biting back his laughter. 

"Come on, we need to leave now." Jehan says, pulling and kissing at Courfeyrac's wrists until the taller man falls off the bed and Courfeyrac quickly pulls on last night's shirt and vest. He nuzzles at Jehan's neck all down the stairs, and pushes him against the wall at the bottom and kisses him hard, really tasting him, memorizing him, before opening the door and pulling him out, laughing at the other's attempts to compose himself. 

"Well that confirms it," Jehan says when he catches back up to Courfeyrac, who had ran away playfully when Jehan had him smacked numerous times on the arm for making him look bad in front of the landlord. "You are no Romeo, despite your efforts."

"'No Romeo'? Why not?" Courfeyrac is shocked at the statement, to say the least.

"Have you read the play?" Jehan asks, and Courfeyrac nods. "Well then you know that Romeo is a man in love, but not necessarily always with someone. He's in love with love, essentially. He craves the attention, both that he would receive as well as he could bestow. He loves love; that's his character. Juliet, on the other hand, is more the embodiment of desire, as she, while accepting romantic things, is more a character of passion. She tolerates the attention from Paris, but only truly wants the passion Romeo can offer." he smiles, and elbows Courfeyrac. "That is why I am Romeo, and you are Juliet."

Courfeyrac scoffs. "But you are far more beautiful, and I am far more experienced." he says, and Jehan throws his head back and laughs.

"Thank you, monsieur, but in this relationship, I am the one who is more experienced." he says, laughing harder at Courfeyrac's put-out expression.

They get to school a little early, and Courfeyrac takes the opportunity to push Jehan into a dark alcove and kiss him until they can't breathe, before sprinting off to meet Combeferre and Enjolras, leaving the shorter man alone and panting.

When Courfeyrac reaches his friends, they are both leaning on a wall, chatting. 

"Late, as usual." Combeferre says, shaking his head. Courfeyrac won't stop smiling, though, and they notices. "Can we ask why?" he prompts, and Courfeyrac grins even wider.

"Obviously he spent the night with our little poet, didn't you?" Enjolras asks, smiling a little and holding the door open for the other two. Courfeyrac nods. "I thought so. I know the face of a man who has just had his dream come true." he smiles softly. "I see it every morning, on Grantaire."

"Yes, I spent the night with Jehan, but not in the way you'd imagine." he rolls his shoulders. "We only slept."

The other two nod sarcastically, and Courfeyrac pushes them away lightly, blushing a little. 

He's happy though, he can't not be. He's happy when Jehan sits on his lap when there are no more chairs at the meeting a few days later. He's happy when he wakes up to see Jehan is still asleep, face even more beautiful in his slumber. He's happy when they do end up first having sex, and it's slow and sweet and loving. He's happy when later that night, they do it again, and it's rougher, faster, with Courfeyrac's wrists pinned above his head as Jehan rides him. 

He's happy when Jehan comes home late one night with two rings and two silver chains, and they each thread a chain through a ring, put them around each other's necks, and lean their foreheads together, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is for the lovely Adrienne, (dropples.tumblr.com), so you should go check her out and follow her cause shes really amazing.
> 
> Jehan in this is loosely (and subconsciously) based on Adrienne's art, found here:  
> http://dropples.tumblr.com/post/47300533512/guess-who
> 
> The title was taken from Ed Sheeran's song "Kiss Me"
> 
> Also the poems are (in order of appearance):
> 
> 'You Don't Believe' by William Blake
> 
> 'Hymn to Apollo' by John Keats
> 
> 'Aedh Gives his Beloved Certain Rhymes' by William Butler Yeats
> 
> 'A Drunken Man's Praise of Sobriety' by William Butler Yeats
> 
> 'A Drinking Song' by William Butler Yeats
> 
> 'A Clear Midnight' by Walt Whitman
> 
> 'Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
> 
> 'Wild Nights, Wild Nights!' by Emily Dickinson (he misquotes this one but cut him some slack i mean he's kissing Jehan who wouldn't be distracted?)
> 
> 'Asleep! O Sleep a Little While, White Pearl' by John Keats


End file.
